


A Story Retold

by Nikoleta



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Not Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikoleta/pseuds/Nikoleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Elias found out Ibarra was related to Pedro Eibarramendia, he stayed for a while longer. (During Chapter 54 of Noli)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story Retold

The man who was to blame for all the unfortunate events that had happened in his and his family’s life... is related to...

 

No. _How...?_

 

But the name of that devil of a man was staring at him right in the face. Oh, how fate loves to play tricks on him.

 

“Was your family acquainted with Don Pedro Eibarramendia?”

 

Deep inside, he wished Crisostomo was not. But why deny, why ask, when the facts are all laid out in front of your eyes?

“I should say so! He was my great-grandfather.”

“Your great-grandfather was Don Pedro Eibarramendia?” 

Hope. Yes, that’s the nuisance behind all this idiocy. Hope that it was not true. What’s with all the sentiment? His heart was beating unnaturally in his chest as he clutched the paper weakly. Elias gulped and closed his eyes as cold sweat started to form on his forehead.

 

He should have told him the Spaniard’s name! From the very beginning.

 

“Yes. We shortened the surname; it was too long.”

 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ He should have known! No, he should have killed him in the first place! It would have been easier that way.

 

Elias swallowed again, trying to unclench the lump forming in his throat. “Was he a Basque?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, a Basque—but what’s the matter?” asked Ibarra in surprise.

Clenching his fists and pressing them to his forehead, Elias glared at Crisostomo, who recoiled when he saw the expression on the other’s face. He doesn’t know, Elias thought. “Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was?” he asked between his teeth. “Don Pedro Eibarramendia was the villain who falsely accused my grandfather and caused all our misfortunes. I have sought for that name and God has revealed it to me! Render me now an accounting for our misfortunes!”

Elias caught and shook the arm of Crisostomo, who gazed at him in terror. In a voice that was bitter and trembling with hate, he said, “Look at me well, look at one who has suffered and you live, you live, you have wealth, a home, reputation—you live, you live!”

He saw tears forming in the edges of Crisostomo’s eyes. He felt one slide down his cheeks.

 

“Elias,” Crisostomo began, uncertain, “I... I didn’t...”

 

He didn’t know. Why does fate play such tricks with him?

 

They stared at each other longer. They watched as tears escaped their eyes. Elias was acutely aware of the fact that they were clutching each other’s arms. He snarled and backed away. He spotted a dagger on the table, took it and pointed it at Crisostomo.

 

“Elias,” he croaked as he raised his arms up protectively. “Whatever... whatever my great-grandfather had done to wrong you... I... Killing those Spaniards, taking their lives, it... It won’t bring them all back.”

 

Elias lowered the dagger, his face scrunched up in pain as he remembered. Oh, what he would give not to remember. What he would do not to fight against his only friend, who spared time to listen to his tragic story. He whimpered and kneeled as tears dropped to the ground.

 

He felt arms around him, and sobbed more. Years of trying to find Pedro’s living relative, years of pent-up anger, years of entertaining ways to kill whoever it was, and here he was, in the same room as he, a weapon in hand, and said person had the audacity _to comfort him._

He felt Ibarra’s hands travel down, from his upper arm to his hand that held the dagger tightly. “So take mine,” Crisostomo said softly, and Elias felt his heart clench. “And end this.”

 

This? End what? Their friendship? His rage for a dead man? His vengeance upon his family who will never live again? Elias looked down at the other’s hand barely touching his.

 

Elias looked up at him, eyes wide and watery, to see a pair of warm, soft eyes – eyes that seem to accept what was about to happen.

 

No. He will not allow Crisostomo to get away from this easily. If there was one thing he knew, it was that it was infinitely better to die, than to be left in reality to face all the sorrow, the pain, the grief of losing someone.

 

He did not want to face the grief of loss once again.

 

But this was his chance!

 

Elias breathed out and slowly withdrew the dagger. He looked at the ground. He felt Ibarra loosen the tension on his shoulders, if only a fraction. He gulped, breathed in-

 

And plunged the dagger in Ibarra’s side all the way to the hilt.

 

Betrayal shot through Ibarra’s eyes. He gaped as his hands flew to the wound, feeling the blood ooze out. Elias smiled weakly, and a single tear rolled down. “Sentiment,” he said, barely a whisper.

 

Ibarra dropped to his side, his eyes rolled as blackness invaded him.

 

Elias blinked, the crazed smile disappearing from his face. He blinked more, as he watched his friend.on the brink of death.

 

No, Elias thought, he’s my friend no more.

 

Ibarra woke up hours later, only to realize that he was on a stranger’s bed. He tried to recall what had happened before. Vague memories of his house being burnt, of Elias barging in his room. He was saying something about... about burning documents-

 

He gasped. His hands flew to his side-

 

Only to realize that his wound was stitched and wrapped neatly in cloth.

 

Ibarra choked on his tears. He struggled to breathe normally. He managed to inhale and was overcome with feelings, his whole body aching. When he breathed out, tears fell silently down his cheek. He mourned for the loss of a friend. He did not know what hurt most – the wound on his side, or the wound in his heart.

 

“Oh Elias,” he murmured, “What am I to do now?”


End file.
